


Pillow Talk

by pulpriter



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: AU, F/M, contrived fluff again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:19:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulpriter/pseuds/pulpriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovemaking is lovely, but you mustn’t take it too seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

> I can't figure out how Jack will get to England, so here's an AU instead.  
> Regarding lovemaking, Lord Chesterfield famously said: “The pleasure is momentary, the position ridiculous, and the expense damnable.” It is all a rather silly business.  
> I don’t own these characters, I just love them.  
> Please review.

“You know, Jack, you don’t eat enough.” Phryne was absent-mindedly stroking his abdomen as he lay on his back.  
He opened his eyes and squinted at her. “I might have known better than to expect any ordinary kind of pillow talk from you.” He propped up on an elbow. “I don’t eat enough? Any other complaints?”  
“Not a complaint, just an observation. You don’t really have any soft parts for me to pillow up to.”  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was a requirement.” He rolled over. “I’ll take it up with Mr. Butler.”  
“ _Pain au chocolat_ daily!” crowed Phryne. “Baskets of biscuits!”  
  
//  
  
The first time, they had no pillows for pillow talk. Jack had come by for dinner, and afterwards they had retired to the parlour, as they had done so many times before. Mr. Butler had brought drinks, but Phryne had dismissed him with a smile, knowing he had plans for an early evening. The decanter was full and they could see to their own needs.

They found themselves leaning against the mantel, laughing, teasing, in their usual way. Without warning, something changed; they stared deep into each others’ eyes for a moment, then were in each others’ arms.  
Their kiss quickly turned wild and desperate, neither of them able to get enough of the other. She grabbed at him, clutching his back, his shoulders. His hands were gentle but insistent, pulling her close, molding her to him.

She savored every sensation, every move—every stroke of his hands, of his tongue, every caress of his lips across her cheeks, to her earlobe, her so vulnerable throat. She had experienced these touches and caresses so many times with so many men—but this was completely different. This was not a nameless, faceless, mindless male body that she had carelessly collected to relieve an urge—although that urge was becoming more urgent by the moment. This was Jack, the one who grounded her, whose strength she turned to, whose eyes plumbed the depths of her heart.

All was frantic, grasping, gasping, grabbing. Clothes were pushed aside, tossed, yanked away. Time ceased to exist. They were mindless, heedless, powerless. Everything was lost to sensation, sensation…

As they came back to earth, Phryne stroked his back as he lay atop her, spent. She sighed his name, and they gazed at each other with stars in their eyes. 

Eventually, he rolled aside. When he did, he chuckled.  
She was accustomed to receiving accolades from lovers, not chuckles. “What is it?”  
“I still have socks on.”  
She surveyed him, and herself, and she snickered. “What about me? Thanks to you, my camisole is wrapped around my waist like a bandage, and my stockings are in shreds around my knees.”  
His grin was completely unrepentant, and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter. They were utterly absurd.  
  
//  
  
On another day, late afternoon sun filtered through the bedroom windows, and they were both drowsing on top of the covers. The door opened suddenly, waking Phryne. Dot peeked her head around the corner, unsuspecting. “Miss?”  
Phryne threw herself across Jack’s body, to preserve some modicum of modesty; but she caught him with an elbow to the solar plexus and woke him.  
Jack grunted, “Umf!” just as Dot cried, “Oh!”  
Phryne, draped across Jack, said, by way of explanation, “Dot, you’re a married woman now! Surely you don’t see anything odd about this.”  
Dot looked shocked to the core. “In the daytime?!” She hurriedly closed the door, and they heard her steps rushing away.  
Jack shook his head. “I’ll have to have a word with Collins.”  
  
//  
  
“So…um…Jack… Did you ever do that with Rosie?”  
He lay facedown on the bed, and his face was buried in the pillow. “Oh, no. Nonononono…”  
“You never did, or you won’t tell?”  
“A gentleman never tells.”  
She huffed. “After what we just did, you can call yourself a gentleman?”  
“I can. I do. A happy one.”  
  
//  
  
The morning light was just breaking through her bedroom window. “Oh, Jack,” Phryne said in a sighed whisper, “I love waking up with you.”  
If in his heart of hearts he had hoped to hear a different version of that sentence, he gave no evidence of it. She went on in her soft morning voice, “I only wish you didn’t have to leave so early. Do you have to work tomorrow, too?”  
“No, not tomorrow.” His own morning voice was raspy and it sent a shiver down her spine.  
“Oh, good!” She sat up. “We’ll be able to sleep in as long as we like.”  
He leaned back against the pillows, a smile hovering at the side of his mouth. If she had begun assuming his presence the next morning, who was he to quibble?  
  
//  
  
Phryne had a new shower installed, and was quite avid to try it out. 

The water shut off abruptly and the shower curtain was yanked out of the way.  
“Good God, that is preposterous!” Jack gasped, stumbling out.  
“You almost fell on me!” Phryne fussed as she followed.  
“You almost toppled me over!”  
“You need to have better balance.”  
“You were standing on one foot!”  
“You used to be able to pick me up—” He did, suddenly, and carried her the rest of the way.  
“Bed,” he said, all the blood in his brain having departed for other regions. She fell unceremoniously onto the middle of the bed, and he fell beside her.  
“Much better,” she sighed. 

Quite some time later, Phryne lay back, gazing blindly at the ceiling. “You know, that really was supposed to work in the shower.”  
“It didn’t.”  
“A friend of mine told me all about it.”  
“Fine. Maybe this friend should come show us—wait, no no no, I didn’t mean that. Can I strike that from the record?”  
“Too late now. I heard you,” she said with a devilish look.  
  
//  
  
“Ja-ack….Did Rosie ever--”  
“Not again, Phryne.”  
“I’m just curious.”  
“Yes, you are.”  
“Come on! Just tell me one little thing.”  
He sighed. “By comparison…you are rather noisy.”  
“Ha! Whose fault is that?” she taunted.  
  
//  
  
One day, bathed in a happy afterglow, she lay back, and stretched an arm over her head. She heard his indrawn breath, and opened her eyes to look at him. “What is it?”  
He shook his head in awe. “You look exactly as you did in the Sarcelle painting.”  
She was delighted. “Jack! That was years and years ago!”  
“Even so.”  
Her smile turned impish. “I notice you’re not blushing now.”  
“I wasn’t blushing then.”  
She rolled her eyes. “Have it your way.”  
“You know,” he said, looking contented, “I believe that I do. Have it my way.”  
“It’s very convenient,” Phryne purred, “that it’s my way too.”  
  
//  
  
Jack was making every attempt to get up and go to work. Phryne claimed to be trying to help.  
“Why don’t I trust that look, Miss Fisher?”  
Phryne was all wide-eyed innocence. “What look, Inspector?”  
“That’s the one.”  
She returned to her previous endeavours.  
“Are you trying to distract me?”  
Phryne looked deep into his lapis-colored eyes, and shrugged. “I’m told I can be very distracting,” she said beguilingly.  
“You are,” he agreed.  
“So it’s working, then?”  
“No.”  
“Yes, it is.”  
“Yes, it is. Why are you trying to distract me?”  
“Why, Jack! Because it’s so much fun!”  
  
//  
  
“Do you ever think of Rosie when we—”  
“Phryne! Please. Drop this.”  
“I just--”  
“I once accused you of having a parade of men through your bedroom. Do you think about them when I---”  
“That’s not the same thing at all!”  
He frowned. “No?”  
“You lived with her for so many years.”  
Jack couldn’t fathom what this had to do with anything, but clearly it was important to Phryne. He pulled her close, and she laid her head on his shoulder.  
“Phryne. Please stop trying to make any comparisons. You are superior in every way—at least, until you leave me.” It was meant as a quip.  
  
Phryne pulled back and looked gravely at him. She might never say it, but her eyes were full of love.  
She stroked his cheek softly, and spoke just as softly.  
“I rather like being superior. I think I’ll make an effort to keep it that way.” 

###

**Author's Note:**

> I must like living dangerously, because I'm going out on a limb with this one. Please tell me what you really think!


End file.
